A Single Cup of Coffee
by Zeypher Vaduva
Summary: The only time a lawyer can cry is when it's all over" Godot. Legendary Prosecutor. Full of mystery. A single cup of coffee leads to a whole night of thinking about himself, His job and his past.


The cool air of that dark November night washes over me. The fluorescent lights of the small Jazz Cafe that I tend to frequent shine brightly in the darkness, cutting through the light snow flurries that have already started to fall. My Goal is a nice hot cup of coffee. No cream. No sugar. Just the hot, black, bitter abyss that I allow to wash over my tongue. There is no one on this silent street save for myself. There is no light, save for the fluorescent bar signs and shady pawn shops. This is my city. This is my home. This is my street. My boots made soft clunking sounds as they hit the cracked pavement, every step I take sending a wave of soft snow away from my feet. The coat I've wrapped around my person not helping to eliminate the freezing bite of the wind. For the moment I am nameless. Just your average person. But then again, thinking about it, I guess I'd be considered a freak. My job is the envy of some people I know. But then again, some hate me for doing what I'm paid to do. Sending both guilty and innocent to that cold, empty place. Secured my cast iron bars. A Life sentence. The Cafe isn't far now, I can already smell the strong, warming aroma of coffee. I can't live without it. I eat, sleep even dream coffee. The story on why however, I will save for another time. Another place. Another cup of Coffee.

The door swings open as I enter. There are already several people here, all enjoying a beverage. The band. Music. The notes weaving a song. A story. Somewhere in the back of my mind the melody registers But I can't think of where I've heard it before.

I sit, hanging my coat on the back of a small wooden chair. People are staring, I can feel it. I don't care. The scent is overpowering now, raising the demon that hungers for caffeine deep within the pit of my stomach. There's a waitress. The same one every time. I think her name was Brooke. But I can't remember. She comes over, placing my usual blend on the table before me, a warm smile filling the depths of my black heart almost as much at the blackness that sits before me. I thank her and pick up my mug, a faint glow of a smirk playing with the corners of my lips. I remember. That One fateful day. My coffee turned out to be poisoned. I lost everything. My life. My identity. The woman I loved. I was suppose to die but my body wouldn't give up. Not for Seven long, cold years of deep sleep. I never forgave myself for what happened. Never. Then I was awake. The sweet smell of something rousing me from my coma. It was Coffee. I smile now, remembering back tot he day I awoke, the black liquid disappearing quickly, sip by sip. Cup by Cup.

'_A lawyer never cries until its over'_ Beyond the music. The drinks. The people. Something else stirs inside of me. A sense of great longing and sadness. I miss those days. The Days with Her. Working. Smiling at her jokes. And her bright personality. She never gave up on anything. Not till the very end. I wish I had been there with her. To hold her hand. To convict her killer. But because of another, I was still in a deep deep sleep. My mug clunks down on the wooden table again, empty. I've already have over Seven cups of Coffee but my body craves more. Needs more. I feel myself sigh at this. There are to many things to thing about now. My career. My life. Myself.

But then there are others. The people who sit in that bright, new courtroom. The Defense. His Sidekick. The judge. It all makes my head spin. What made me decide to do this again? Am I seeking vengeance over him? Or am I simply trying to find out about what happened. Why he is who he is. What made him the great Defense Attorney that he is today. I may never know all the answers.

The band has stopped now. The wave of empty silence like the weight of a million cargo ships on me. There are more mugs around me now. Fifteen in all. I'm still thirsty for more.

Then I hear something. The sound of a sweet piano melody. Weaving the notes upon the loom of which music is created. I smile now, running a tanned hand through my pure white locks. I've been waiting all night to hear this song. It brings me back to a time where I had no worries. I had no competition. I had no reason to fear. To fear myself. To be afraid of others.

I glance casually at the clock. I've been sitting for three hours. Pondering who I am and what I'm meant to be doing. Is this really what God wants me to do? Am I bound for a greater future? Is my thread of fate entwined with his? I shall never know. That sinking feeling I get makes me feel that it is, but for the reason we are I have no idea.

Twenty.

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Cost has no meaning to me now. All I care about is filling the hole inside of me. The swirling abyss of nothingness. The hole gets bigger with each cup I drink, the hot brew eroding small pieces of me with every sip. I don't care. I don't care at all.

I stand now, Leaving a fresh twenty dollar bill on my table. My jacket makes its way back to my shoulders, Boots clunking against the cobblestone. This place is old. Historic. I remember my first visit. But no. I must go. Leave the place I feel most comfortable.

The snow has stopped. The small white drifts dotting the world with small patches of beauty. It looks so clean. So pure. And so unlike myself. The wind continues to blow relentlessly, its coldness slicing like a knife through warm butter, quickly. There are goosebumps on my arms. The City is quiet. The time being well past four in the morning. I slowly make my way back to my apartment, the soft yellow glow of a single incandescent bulb illuminating the shallow lobby. As I unlock my door, the soft mewing of the stray kitten I found in the garbage dumpster fills my ears, a both loud and warm greeting. I smile a little, squatting down to pet the animal, the soft fur coating my fingers in fuzziness. Maybe things will get better.

I shrug my coat off, tossing the keys on the counter. My bedroom is dark. I don't bother to flip he light switch as I shed my clothing, brown pants, pinstripe vest and White tie. The last thing to go is my shirt, As green as the forest. I crawl between the cotton sheets, placing the visor that helps me see beside my bed, watching with difficulty as the red light fades. My eyes are all but useless now. I close them, letting the soft sounds of city life engulf me. Lulling me to sleep. The last thing I remember thinking about is him. That Defense Attorney. His name was Phoenix Wright. I don't think I'll ever forgive him for letting Mia get killed. But, as sleep pulls me under I feel myself smirk. I do have a purpose in life. I just don't know it yet.

"My name is Godot. Legendary Prosecutor."

For Ki. Hope this cheered you up. :)


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